


Every You Every Me

by Biles_Bilinski



Series: Volatile Times [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: But They're My Mess, Dread Doctors Effects, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Nemesis' to Friends-with-Benefits, Nogitsune Effects, Nogitsune Trauma, Original Character(s), Road Trips, Rough Sex, Scott fucks up, Sex, Stiles and Theo's Relationship is Convoluted yet Therapeutically-Unhealthy, The Dread Doctors, The Dread Doctors Are Pricks, They're a Fucking Mess, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biles_Bilinski/pseuds/Biles_Bilinski
Summary: [Sequel to Volatile Times]It was supposed to be over. They earned their peace, they went through hell and back for it.Yet, jokes on them; Dread Doctors were still very much alive - or whatever they were -and still ongoing with their experiments. Only, instead of using live subjects, they’re using dead ones.Did he mention that there was a vengeful pack of Werewolves out there, hellbent on murdering all of them? Worst still, they had Derek.They were, on every level, and every possible angle, positively, fucked.[ When Scott does the unthinkable, Stiles turns to Theo. ]





	1. Chapter 1

Utter shit could not even begin to describe their situation.

How did it even come to this?

The Beast was supposed to be the end of all this, the resolution that ended all the Dread Doctor bullshit. They were supposed to finish senior year, get past the ghost the whole ordeal left behind. Except, it was impossible. There had been so much death, so many funerals, too much grief. He attended so many funerals within the past few weeks, a majority of the murders his own classmates. People he’d known since grade school. Passed by in hallways, did group projects with, kids he _knew_. Granted, they weren’t close or anything. But he couldn’t stop the shivers and guilt that gnawed in him when he saw and _felt_ how empty the classrooms and halls seem.

**_16 casualties._ **

It was supposed to be over. They’d earn their peace, they fought hard to get it.  
 ****

Yet, jokes on them; Dread Doctors were still very much alive - or whatever they were -and still perservering with their experiments. Only, instead of using live subjects, they’re using dead ones.

It was shitty and complicated enough as it was. Should they kill them? Were they still the people they were? How do they explain to people that the presumed-dead citizens were just roaming around the town with teeth and fangs intact.

However, it was obvious that these people are gone, their bodies used as vessels for their supernatural experiments.

Only, they just had to pick _her_.

Scott would never kill. Whether it was his own code or his morals, killing was always the last solution to any problem. Even if it was the only solution to the problem. Convincing him to stop the experiments through that method was a dead-end. The mighty true alpha was against it from the start. But bringing _her_ into the picture. 

Well, fuck.

That’s how they got here.

“I know this is difficult, I know this _sucks_.” Stiles tried, eyes narrowed as he watches Scott pace the room for an answer. “But it’s the only way. Scott, you have to know this. It’s the _only_ way.”

“There has to be a way to save her, to save all of them! We just need more time!” Frustrated, Stiles stood up. 

“We don’t have time, Scott. We have officially run out of time! Sixteen people are dead and you think waiting around for some miracle solution is going to help that number out?!” Stiles shouted.

“Look, we can get Derek, he’ll know something about this.” Kira suggested, hopeful to break the tension.

“We can’t.” Lydia said, pursing her lips.

“He’s been taken by the Mutatio pack- and it’s too far out, we can’t get him.”

“All the more reason to! He’s their leverage, they’re going to come for us too and, Scott, we don’t want _that_ to bite us in the ass later-.” 

“We have enough things to worry about, we can’t just _leave_.” Scott pressed. Lydia looked unimpressed. “There’s too many of them, and we don’t have a way to-.”

“Stop them? Yes we do. Scott just _refuses_ to accept it.” Stiles barked back, bitterly sing-song in his tone. 

Scott stops, and faces Stiles, equally just as frustrated. “And I’m supposed to just give up on them? Kill them? Stiles, they are people-.”

“Not anymore they aren’t! We know that there isn’t a way to save them, we’ve already tried everything- they’re already fucking dead!” Stiles shouted, almost ready to give up. “This is about her, isn’t it?!”

Scott’s eyes harden at that, turning away. “You know it isn’t.”

“It’s about saving everyone.”

Stiles swallowed, but eyes narrowed “We can’t save her. She’s dead, Scott. This isn’t her and you know it-.”

“You don’t know that!” Scott yells. Lydia’s eyes are casted down as she shifts uncomfortably. She knows Stiles is right but any chances of getting Alison back… 

“Yes, we do Scott. I get that it’s hard to accept, I do, but this is our only option.”

“We have time, we have time.” Scott repeated to himself in a mantra, ignoring Stiles. Stiles huffed and stepped forward, frustration building. 

“No, we don’t. My dad almost _died_ because of this. Remember that? This is the only way, and if we don’t do something then more people are going to-.”

Scott walked pass him, ignoring him completing, turning to Lydia. “Get Deaton, we’ll take one of them and he’ll know what to do.”

“Listen to me-.” 

“Malia, Liam, go with Lydia, I’ll catch up.”

“Scott-.”

“Kira can you-.”

“Can you stop acting like a complete _idiot,_ and listen to me for once?!”Stiles all but screamed.

“Don’t you remember the Mutatio pack? You know, the very-much-so benign and helpful pack that were already on the fence with us? Yeah, half of them were freaking slaughtered by the Beast because you couldn’t decide what to do.”

Scott shook his head, “What could’ve we done? Kill Mason?” Scott shouted, breathing hard. From the corner of his eye, he could see Liam tense, claws digging into his palms, on-edge because of the full-moon. Stiles clenched his jaw, swallowing.

"We found away to save Mason, now we’ll save everyone else.”

Stiles shook his head, turning away. Scott frowned, bitter smile accusing Stiles.

“Why are you so against this?! We’re saving lives-”

“No we’re not, Scott!” Stiles shouted, whipping back around. “More people are dying than we are saving!” He exclaimed, stepping towards Scott, gesticulating wildly.

“They are all dead! Aiden is dead! Allison is dead! You keep saying that we have time, but guess what Scott? We don’t, and more people are dead and more people are going to die because you’re still boning over a DEAD SWEETHEART- _!”_

A deafening clap of thunder tore through the room, a cry of pain, a resounding thud, followed by a horrified silence.

 

 

_“Scott!”_

 

“Stiles, are you okay!?” 

 

_“What the hell is wrong with you!”_

 

Stiles could only stare at the floor, eyes moist from the sharp pain that tore through his face and his chest, mouth open in shock and ragged breaths. Hands only _just_ managing to catch his fall, palms against the cold, varnished, wooden floor; Droplets of crimson by his fingers. There was shouting, growling, screaming- but he blocked it out as a white static noise. He brings his fingers up to his right cheek, wincing at the touch, looking down to see blood at his fingers, feeling it run down his face, his chin and-

He felt someone at his back- Lydia, he thinks, arms around him protectively as she tried to stand him up- he was shaking- why was he shaking?

He turned around slowly, shaking Lydia off, his vacant eyes avoiding Scott’s horrified ones. Scott’s mouth opening and closing like a fish, eyes wet like he wanted to cry- how was he going to fix this? His claws were still wet with-

“Stiles, I’m-.”

_“No.”_

Scott felt his heart drop to the floor, time slowing down, his right hand heavy with the magnitude of what he’d just done. He didn’t mean- he didn’t-.

“Stiles.” Lydia called out, following him. Her hand tried grasping his arm but he pulled it back, turning to her slightly.

 _“Don’t.”_ His voice hoarse, turning to Malia. _“Don’t.”_

Lydia swallowed, but she pulled her hand back, eyes wet as the door slammed closed.

Another terrible silence.

Lydia turned to Scott, jaw clenched.

Then all hell broke loose.

 

* * *

 

Stiles couldn’t get out of there fast enough. 

The pain from his cheek hadn’t set in yet. Instead, it was lodged deeply in his chest. As if someone had shoved blistering stones in there and sowed them back up- it was heavy, and it _hurt_.

He doesn’t remember clambering in his car, turning the ignition once -twice- finally.

Stiles clenched his jaw tight, moisture threatening to spill from his eyes. It stung. He makes a harsh turn, and it’s almost reckless. He feels the salt trickling over his cheeks, over the blood- but he ignores it. Thick down his upper lip. His breaths are laboured, and his throat is white-hot sore from breathing through his clogged mouth. Biting the insides of his cheek to keep himself going- to get _there_ already. 

Stiles doesn’t even bother pulling over.

He couldn’t do it.

He screamed, bangs both of fists against his steering wheel in frustration. Over, and over, and over again. He’s crying. Every sob feels punched and forced out of him, as he clutched the wheel in a vice grip for support. He’s slamming his head agains the headrest, clutching at his mouth to somewhat restrain himself. 

The strain of his stitches get to him, and he feels them threatening to snap. He clutches them tightly, a feeble attempt to keep it together.

Everything’s messy, painful and disgusting. His face is wet and thick, his throat.

He feels sick.

When he’s reduced to manageable hiccups, he slams his foot on the acceleration, needing to get home immediately.

Stiles managed to stumble through the doorway of his house, making a beeline for his room. Everything was still blurry and wrong through wet, sore eyes.

His whole weight lands on the basin, as he clambers for the edges. He doesn’t look in the mirror when he tries to wash his face. But that’s when the white- blistering hot agony slams into him at full force. He stumbles back, clutching at the basin like a lifeline as he wills the pain away, pained, pitched moans squeezed out of him, tears trickling steadily over his face. It’s still throbbing when he tries to wash his eyes and the other of his face, but it was _unrelenting_. He’s sick suddenly, throwing up in the sink. 

He lifts the tap to wash away the pale yellow, red, putrid mess and still attempts to wash around the scar, without looking at his face.

It’s unbearable and his face is on _fire_. He’s going to be sick again, and he’s already panting from the effort.

He tries to clutch at the door knob behind him for support but his hand misses it and he crashes onto the tile floor, head slamming against the door.

Stiles is still gasping for breath, and it’s hard to breath through the thick in his throat, and he can barely see anything but a flurry of white.

He drags his arm across his face, to wipe off the snot, but grazes his cheek and he face twists as he whines, the force of it slamming the back of his head against the door.

The exhaustion is jarring, and he slumps over, wrung-out, eyes heavy, blurred vision only just catching the familiar figure enter his bedroom.

His eyes blink languidly, hand still over his stitches.

 

“Theo?” He murmured.

 

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

 

 

* * *

“Let me go!” Malia snarled, ferocious eyes burning blue as she fought against Liam and Kira viciously, who strained to keep the feral Werecoyote from murdering the True Alpha.

Liam was staring at Scott, stunned. Kira couldn’t even look at Scott, pointedly staring at the ground as the both of them focused their strength on keeping Malia where she was. They couldn't make this situation worse that it already was.

Scott stood there, still dumbfounded, sporting a now-healing bruised face and a bleeding split lip. He gaped, still struggling to find the words, looking through Malia, eyes kept on the door that Stiles-

 

He hit him. 

 

He hit _Stiles_. 

 

“That’s enough, Malia!” Lydia yelled, startling everyone, her composure broken at the circumstances. Malia reluctantly stopped fighting against the two, eyes still bright in rage, a low growl resonating in her throat.

Lydia cleared her throat, turning to face Scott.

“God, Scott McCall, you are _so_ _stupid_.” Lydia hissed, voice cracking. _“So stupid.”_ She refrained from pushing him again, or yelling, but he winces all the same, looking down at his hands.

“But you should know that by now.”

Lydia shook her head, biting her lip, barely able to keep in the anger.

“I don’t know what to say to you.” Lydia admitted, looking down, trying to fathom the situation. She pursed her lips, clenching her fists and relaxing them, her chest ice as dread and guilt dug into her. _“I don’t know what you can do to fix this.”_

“But what I’m going to do is go over to Stiles’, and make sure he hasn’t died from blood-loss-that is if he can even look at me.” Lydia softly says, swallowing the already festering guilt.

Her head snaps to Scott, mouth open to say something- but she closes it again, finding that she’s utterly clueless. For the first time, Lydia Martin is absolutely clueless in a situation. 

“You hurt him, Scott.” She repeats, eyes wet as she looks at his guilt-stricken face, _“Again.”_

And with that she turned her heels and headed straight for the door, walking over the small puddle of crimson, staining the carpet. 

The drive to Stiles’ house was tense, her throat itching to let out a sob. She bit her lip, dragging her teeth forcibly over it, restricting herself. That wasn’t going to help Stiles. 

She refused to think about their situation. It was a mess. It was the Beast and Theo all over again- to think they’d _learn_. The pack wasn’t whole when they finally banded to stop the Beast but they all ignored it. The fractures. 

Lydia knew that Scott and Stiles were on rough grounds, first with Theo, then Donovan and now the Desert Wolf. She could practically feel the jagged and stilted tension when she mentions any of that to either of them. But they’d ignore it. 

And now.

_ Now. _

Lydia pulled into the Stilinski driveway, climbing out of her car, gingerly making her way to the doorstop.

She frowns when she sees that the door is open, pushing it gently, vigilant.

“Stiles?” She called out, entering the household, softly closing the door behind her. She climbs the carpeted steps, throat scratchy when she notes the small, dark stains, before forcing her head up high. 

Lydia walks quietly over to Stiles’ room, heart suddenly racing to encounter the  _aftermath_ . 

She rapped her knuckles against the door, clearing her throat. “Stiles?” 

She doesn’t hear anything. Nothing. 

No shuffling or fumble for the door. 

Immediately, she’s filled with worry, twisting the doorknob to let herself in.

“Stiles?” 

There’s no one there. 

Her eyes widen as she looks around the room, the bathroom. Stiles was gone. She covers her mouth, gagging, shocked at the state of the sink. Blood and vomit dotted the sink, red hand-shaped still gripping the edges of the basin.A damp disconcertingly  _red_ towel thrown unceremoniously into the sink, as well as some damp bandage wrappers.

Forcing herself to look away, she investigates the rest of the room, digging her phone out of her pocket, calling Malia, then the Sheriff.

Malia doesn’t pick up, but she doesn’t have to worry, because more than a few minutes later, she comes into the room.

“Where is he?” Malia asked softly, eyes darting at the closed bathroom door then back at Lydia, in question. 

Lydia shook her head, shrugging, eyes wet as she struggles to swallow down the frustration and despair. 

“He’s not here, Malia and I think it’s bad.” Her voice is growing hoarse. Malia eyes widened, the frowning as she starts to frantically investigate the room.

“His bag’s missing- and some of his clothes.” Malia noted, brows furrowed as she stared back at Lydia, the worry between them multiplied at the implication. 

Lydia shook her head, “He wouldn’t just-.” 

“Wait.” Malia says, heart pounding when she just catches-

That scent. 

“Someone else was here.” Malia says, searching the room. 

“Who?” Lydia inquired, brows knitting together as she stood up. 

Malia’s eyes widened, eyes now glowering a dangerous blue hue, snarling once more.

_“Theo.”_


	2. Chapter 2

“Theo?” He murmured, barely recognising the figure through his blurred vision.

Stiles only knew it actually him when he was up close, hand on his left shoulder, checking him over.

_Why?_

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Get away from me.” Half-attempting to pushing himself away from Theo. _“Get the hell away from me.”_

_“Stiles-.”_

“You killed them. Your _pack_. You killed Tracy, you killed Josh, you tried to kill Lydia, you tried to kill all of them, again!” He shouted, feet pushing his entire weight against the wall behind him.

“I wasn’t going to kill them. I just needed them out the way-.” Stiles hit his head against the back of the wall, frustrated. “Stop LYING!” He shouted again. 

_“Stiles.”_

“You murdered Tracy and Josh. For what, for their _power_.” Stiles spat, “Just like what you would’ve done with _Mason_ , ” His throat hoarse from yelling, “By the way, _sorry that didn’t pan out.”_

“I did it to stop the Beast, Stiles.” Theo said simply. Stiles shook his head, “Fucking bullshit, and you know it. You just get off on power, like the rest of them.” Stiles scoffed, almost bitter that he let himself believe that Theo could’ve been different.

“Did Scott tell you that?” Theo snapped, almost disappointed. Stiles just glowered back. 

Theo doesn’t look phased, instead placing a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, Stiles jerked at the jarring move, turning to him in silence, ready for anything, ready to-

“What happened?” 

Stiles forced out a chuckle, but even that sounded pitiful. Theo pursed his lips, other hand at his neck, as he turns his face to inspect the damage. Stiles doesn’t even know why he lets him, still in too much of a shock.

“What happened?” He asked again, firmly. Stiles shrugged, “One of the dread doctor’s experiments had a good go at me.” 

At least, Stiles thinks he buys it. He looks up to see Theo stood up, scanning his room for something, yet hand outreached to him. Stiles took it, pulling himself up, but still swaying on his feet, dizzy. Theo steadying him with a supportive grip on his shoulder.He doesn’t look him in the eye, doesn’t want to see the victory behind them when he finds out the sorry state that his and Scott’s friendship’s in. 

“Doesn’t explain why you were crying like _that_.” Theo accused.

“Ever consider that I just might be a major wimp?” He snapped, pushing past him, back into the bathroom.

“Crossed my mind.” 

He grabs the first-aid kit, brushing past Theo who goes in after him. 

Stiles opened the first-aid kit, landing on the bed, “Why are you even here?” He shoots, eyes flicking back up. Theo walked up to him, with a wet towel in hand, sitting on his side on the bed, opposite him with the first aid kit between them. He gave a questioning look to Theo who only responds with raised brows, supplementing the incredulous look. Stiles turned his head, looking away, silently granting permission. Theo brings the towel to his neck, and he starts to clean at the blood that started to stick to his skin. 

“I came back because I need to be an Alpha.” Theo admitted, eyes focused on his neck and face. 

“Of course.” Stiles said sarcastically. He still doesn’t look at him, “At least you’re persistent.” 

“I’m not after Scott, or Deucalion,” He corrected, tilting his face to the side to start at his face. “So I figured you might know any nearby packs that I could-.”

“Slither your way into? Break apart from the inside? Or are you just going to be more up-front with your murderous self and just kill-.” He stopped, mouth open, because it hits him. 

“What?” Theo asks, lowering his hand, not perturbed by his venomous accusations. 

Stiles’ eyes meet his, pursing his lips. 

“We just might be to help each other out.” Theo stilled, if any indication that he was interested. 

“There’s a pack, up in Chicago-.”

“ _Nearby_ packs, Stiles.”

“-the Mutatio pack. They’re a particularly murderous family of werewolves that have a grudge, so they’re most definitelycoming after us.” He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he doesn’t know why he’s telling him _this_. 

“You want me to get rid of them?” 

_Because he gets it._

“Something like that.” 

“You’ve tried negotiating?” 

“They’re not the type.”

Theo nodded, a bit too nonchalant to be talking about something like mass-murder. “And I’m guessing Scott’s not on board with this?” At the name, Stiles shrinks against him, almost shutting down again. Theo catches it.

“I’m coming with you.” Stiles said instead, ignoring him. He’s lucky that Theo doesn’t press, but Theo probably knows enough. 

Theo frowned, eyes searching for contact, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“They took a friend.” Stiles said, as if that was his argument. “And you have no idea where you’re going. Also, I have to meet up with a few somebodies once we get there.” 

He just wanted to get out of here.

“So you’re going to drive up all the way to Chicago to help me kill an entire pack of werewolves, without telling Scott?” Theo said, slightly amused, cocking his head, “You trust me that much?”

“I trust that you won’t kill me- Nope, actually revisiting that now. No, I trust your compulsive need for power. But don’t kid yourself, that I would trust you for a second.” Theo smirked, but it dimmed as his eyes trail back to the side of Stiles’s mutilated face.

“Fair enough.” 

Theo encircled a hand at his thigh, and before Stiles can even make a noise in protest, the Chimera’s lifting him, pushing him to the top of the bed effortlessly, Stiles’ back now up against the bed rest and the wall.

“Was that really necessary?” 

“Nope.” Theo said, Stiles scoffing at the remark, Theo returning the towel to his face, carefully cleaning around the edges. Stiles flinched violently, the agonising throb taking up half of his face returning, slamming his head against the wall, instinctively grabbing Theo’s arm. 

The moment he touched the chimera’s arm, he felt the relief slam against him just as jarringly, head spinning. 

His eyes threatened to close as Theo inspected his face, and now that most of the pain was gone, he could feel how bizarre it was to have cold air hit raw flesh, the sting of it was just as bad. 

“This is actually pretty bad, Stiles,” Stiles eyes blinked up to Theo, frowning. 

“It needs stitches if it’s going to heal anytime soon,” he said, all the while grabbing the antiseptic and a square bandage. Stiles squeezed Theo’s arm tighter. 

_“More needles?”_ Stiles groaned, breath catching in his throat as Theo applied the antiseptic, already feeling the dull sting of it, then the bandage. Theo lets Stiles sit there, his hand on his arm.

“You should’ve listened.” Theo stated. Stiles shakes his head, clenching and unclenching his fingers around Theo’s arm, eyes centred there. 

“You can do stitches, right?” Stiles asked. Theo nodded, “I can, but are you sure want to do that? We should take you to the hospital, have Melissa check it out.” 

“No, because we’re going _now_.”He says, pulling his hand off Theo, hiding his wince as he forced himself off the bed, staggering across the room for his backpack.

“Plan on giving anyone the heads up?” Theo questioned, watching with concealed amusement as Stiles rummaged through his closet, grabbing clothes and throwing them in the general direction of his bag. 

“No,” Stiles said, grabbing his phone charger, tossing it in his bag, “Otherwise they’ll stop me.” A hand suddenly grabbed his wrist. 

“You’re being reckless.” Theo stated, as he lowered his wrist, watching him carefully. 

“I don’t care,” Stiles said, looking up to him. “Now are you just going to stand there, with the all-so-helpful commentary or are you going let go of me and help?”

* * *

Stiles tilted his head back as his chucked the pain-killer in his mouth, dry-swallowing the pill. He tossed the pill-bottle behind him carelessly, eyes still fixed on the road.

“I should be the one driving.” Theo chuckled, watching as Stiles strained to keep his eyes open, obviously exhausted. 

“Remember when I said I don’t trust you?” Stiles said. 

“Mhm?”

“Believe it or not, the status hasn’t changed.” 

“You’re being stupid.”

“I’m being _careful_.” 

“Paranoid.”

“Maybe.”

“Reckless.”

_“I get it-.”_

“Umbrageous.”

“Okay I- What does that even mean?” Stiles halted, exasperated. _Theo’s turning into Lydia._

“You’re sensitive.” Theo said matter-of-factly, as he looked out the window. Stiles scoffed indignantly, shifting glances from Theo and the windshield. 

“I think I deserve to be a little wounded, considering the circumstances.”

“Which are…?”

Stiles stops himself before he just tells Theo everything. Give him something that he could manipulate? He already knew that something went down between him and Scott, he just didn’t know _how bad_ it got. 

“I have to spend a week with the neighbourhood-friendly mass-murdering teenage psycho, Theo Raeken, there’s the a shitty live-action remake of the _Walking Dead_ starring our very own beloved formerly-dead citizens of Beacon Hills, there’s a feral pack flaunting mass murder in our faces- and speaking of which, half of mine has been clawed off, no thanks to the _incredibly persistent_ Dread Doctors.” Stiles takes a deep breath before looking back at Theo, with yet another unreadable and passive expression on his face.

Stiles clenched his jaw and sighs, looking away. 

“Where were you?” Stiles asked, “Doubt your getaway was as eventful.”

Theo shrugged, “I was sorting out money. Been in and out of Beacon Hills, took care of some loose ends.” He waved off vaguely.

Stiles frowned, “Money? 

“How do you think I get by? Dread Doctors aren’t exactly familiar with the concept of pocket money.” 

Stiles scoffed at the attitude, but nodded all the same, making a turn right, passing a mall and a chain of fast food restaurants, now on the main road. 

“Still friendly with them?” Stiles asked suddenly. A beat of silence. 

“Not exactly.” Theo said vaguely, turning away from him. Stiles acknowledged the avoidance, too tired to press further. Something happened, something Theo’s not telling him. Being in Theo’s car for the past four hours was long enough for him to realise that. Less cocky, less annoying. Anxious, if anything. 

“I’d prefer to get to Chicago alive, if that’s all the same to you.”

Stiles startled, suddenly gripping the wheel tighter at the sudden noise. He didn’t even notice he was drifting off. 

“Wha-.”

“If you’re not going to let me drive, then pull over. There’s a motel nearby.” Theo said simply. “On your right.” 

Stiles didn’t say anything. Pride, probably. 

His traitorous eyelids felt like anchors, and his throat still clogged. His face was still throbbing. So he pulled into the motel, which wasn’t too far from the main road, parking lot a little busy.

Sighing as he pulled the key out of the ignition, shoving it in his pocket. Theo grabbed their bags from the backseat, slinging on over his shoulder before heading straight for the reception.

Stiles just followed suit. 

* * *

Flicking on the lights to their room, Stiles couldn’t help but notice something immediately.

“A double bed?” Stiles questioned, instead turning to Theo who dumped their bags by the coffee table, stretching. 

“That a problem?” Theo questioned, voice tethering on the edge of smug. _And he's back._

Stiles rolled his eyes, he was too tired to argue, he couldn’t find himself to care whether they’d sleep in the same bed- he sure as hell wasn’t sleeping on the floor. 

“You stay on your side and I stay on mine.” He waved off, ignoring the way Theo smirked, instead grabbing the clothes from his bag, heading straight for the bathroom, shutting it behind him.

* * *

Feeling slightly more fresh than he did ten minutes ago- there was so much a dingy motel room shower could do- he walked over to his bag for his phone, switching it back on as he sat on the edge of the bed.

 

11 missed calls.

 

He ignored them, only searching for one contact.

_ “Stiles?” _

“Hey, dad.” Stiles answered softly. 

_“Where are you? Are you okay? It’s three in the morning.”_ Stiles noted he didn’t sound angry. He knew. 

“I’m fine, dad. Trust me.” 

_“Is he with you?”_ His dad whispered urgently. Stiles frowned, shifting, gripping the phone tighter.

“Who? You mean-.” He relaxed. Of course. “Yeah, I’m with Theo.”

_“Why the hell are you with him? Is he making you?”_ Stiles shook his head.

“No, we- We’re heading up to get Derek. We’re going to meet up with Peter and Cora.”

_ “Are you insane?! After everything he’s put you all through, not including the two kids he’s murdered, how can you even think about trusting him?!”  _

“He saved my life,” Stiles said back, almost defensively, ignoring the scoff that came as a response, “Just don’t come after me, trust me on this, _please_.”

There was seconds of silence. 

_ “You’re absolutely sure?”  _

Stiles dragged his teeth across his bottom lip before nodding. “Yeah.”

_ “How bad are you hurt?” _

Stiles shrugged, “It’s just a scratch.”

_“There’s blood everywhere, Stiles. It’s way too much for ‘just a scratch’!”_ Stiles winced, his dad was definitely angry about that. He repressed the guilt that started to swell, hand instinctively touching the bandage on his face.

“It’s not that big of deal, I mean, okay, it’s a deep cut, but I took the first aid kit, antiseptic and bandage already set. Already taken care of. Trust me.” He said meekly. The Sheriff caught his tone, sighing tiredly.

_ “Okay, okay kiddo. I trust you. I shouldn’t, but I’ll- I’ll trust you. Just please, be careful.” _

“I will. Love you, dad.”

_ “Love you, Stiles.”  _

He ended the call, plugging his phone in on the nightstand, flopping back on the bed. He closed his eyes, sighing, squeezing the bridge of his nose. 

“Stiles.”

 

He looked up, eyes meeting a freshly-laundered Theo, who sat beside him on the bed,first aid kit between them.

Stiles shifted nervously, the side of his face starting to burn at the anticipation. 

“How do you want to do this?” Theo asked, as he slotted the thread through the needle, tying a knot. Stiles frowned.

“Do you want to stay sitting up or lie down? This is going to take a while.” Theo clarified. 

Stiles nodded stiffly, “Lie down.” he murmured, pushing himself up the bed, lying his head on the pillow, watching as Theo moved the first aid, climbing over him-

_“Uh- Theo?”_ Stiles questioned uncertainly as the Chimera got himself comfortable, fucking _straddling_ him as he cut off the thread with a claw, not paying him any attention. Or seeing how this was very much so breaching the zone of weird. Theo levelled down towards him, cotton and towel in hand. Then Theo-

Stiles watched as Theo took his arm, placing his hand under his shirt, dragging it up his bare side. _What the fuck is even happening._

“This is going to hurt.” Theo explained before Stiles could question his credibility and shove him off. “You can’t exactly hold on to my arm when I do this, hence.” Theo gestured to their position with his eyes. 

“What was the alternative?” Stiles asked as Theo sorted out the needle, thread and antiseptic.The chimera cocked his head, brows raised. “Knocking you out.”

“A sedative?”

“I was looking at more unorthodox ways.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes, gripping his fingers into Theo’s lower back, sliding his hands up experimentally. “Just do it already.” 

Theo nodded, before leaning his weight in by pressing both elbows beside Stiles’ face,balancing himself as he carefully removed the bandage. 

Stiles hissed, tightening his grip on Theo, feeling the initial burn of the bandage peel away, the peculiar feeling of cold air on raw, naked flesh gracing him once more. His eyes catches the familiar black lines that begin to snake down his wrist, pain being drawn out, the veins appearing on Theo’s side. 

He could feel Theo pad the antiseptic around the area, wiping away excess blood with the cotton pad. Then taking the needle in hand, Theo lifted the shredded skin and started to dig in the needle into his face-

Stiles swallowed uneasily, this experience by far the strangest thing he’s been in. He massaged his fingers on Theo’s back, equivalent to drumming them nervously in distraction, trying to avoid the weird feeling of thread puncturing and moving through the inside of his face.

This whole situation wasn’t ideal. Okay, major understatement, this whole week had been actual hell. If someone told him he’d end up here a month ago he’d laugh.

Even now, he couldn’t wrap his head wrong it. That Scott could do that to him. Full moon or not. It was painfully clear that Scott would never understand. Whether it was with Donovan, the Desert Wolf or this new shit-show they found themselves starring in. Now the rift between them was gaping, stretched too thin- and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to cross it. 

No, because his best friend refused to listen to him, again. His _brother_ didn’t want to listen to him because it was just too damn hard to face the facts, and he- he hit him. Heat built behind his eyes, and he closed them to keep himself from thinking. His chest felt tight and heavy, because of Scott. Again. He couldn’t keep fixing everything, and he shouldn’t have to. 

And now he was here. With Theo. A serial killer. Here with Theo to actively participate in murdering an entire pack of Werewolves. Ironically, the person he suspected from being a sociopath the get-go. Of course, thanks to the same sort of irony, Theo’s currently the only one who could understand him.

His eyes flickered up, to watch Theo, his face hovering a few good inches away from his. Theo’s brows didn’t even furrow in concentration as he sowed his face close. It was strange. Theo’s eyes rested on the side of his face. Calm and focused.

Letting his mind wander into uncharted territories, he settled on watching Theo. Stiles can admit that Theo was…attractive. His own girlfr-Malia had no trouble confessing to her attraction the moment Theo rolled into school, perfect hair gelled, immaculate smile intact. His jealously had riled up then, but couldn’t place where-or who- it was directed at. However, his rightly-placed suspicion overwhelmed any ounce of attraction towards the newcomer.

It had been a fleeting thought, forgotten and dismissed under the stress of dread doctors and hellhounds. Then Theo told him everything. Admitted to everything. Why he did that, he didn’t know. 

Then he saved his life. 

And he was left confused, again. 

Theo cut the thread with his claw, eyes finally shifting to meet his. Stiles allowed himself to wallow himself in the gaze, mind wanting something to fixate on, anything distract him from the inevitable disaster that was waiting for him on the other side, to the very second he took his hand off Theo. 

God, he was actually considering it. 

So when Theo moved to pull off him, he gripped him tighter, dragging his hand up his back to bring him closer. Theo gives him a warning look, eyes never leaving his. Stiles’ mouth started to part, eyes flicking from his eyes, to his lips then back up, resolute. 

He needed this to distract him from the distraction. He’s never even been with a guy. Yet he was ever considered where he even was on the spectrum. But for some unlawful reason, he wanted- he wants _Theo_. Now.

Theo’s eyes are dark, eyes dragging up from Stiles’ lips to meet his eyes. He doesn’t say anything. 

Neither of them knows who made the first move.

Stiles groaned into Theo’s mouth at the collision, as the latter pushed himself down against him. A deep needy sound ruptures from Stiles’ throat, heels pushing himself up the bed, dragging Theo up with him. Theo’s hand push beneath him, hand pressing up against Stiles’ back as he pulls Stiles closer. He responded eagerly, fingers at Theo’s nape and hand at his bare back dragging and pulling him closer. Stiles opened his mouth into kiss, lips sliding against each other, hot breath mixed. 

His mind is quiet.

All there is is heat, Theo between his legs, Theo’s wet lips dragging against his, Theo’s tongue invading his mouth. And it felt good.

_“Fuck.”_ He breathes. He’s kissing Theo.

 

_God, he’s kissing Theo._

 

“Stop thinking.” Theo’s voice is husky and sultry, Stiles felt heat rise up his cheeks. Not trusting himself to speak, He nods, eyes half lidded, twisting Theo’s shirt into a knot as he pulled him closer, lips parted. 

He stops thinking.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took ages. Writing is so hard, how does literally everyone else pull it off. Some magic-folk throwing out 7k chapters in 5 day intervals. And it's taken me this long to get chapter 2 done and it's not even half that?? How?? 
> 
> Yeah, getting straighhtt into the steo. The whole 'Oh shit, Theo's attractive' may come out of the left field but if Malia/Stiles can get it on in literally one episode in the basement of a mental asylum then this should be somewhat acceptable (by TW standards). 
> 
> Thanks for sticking by!


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles groaned discontentedly, at the annoying melody that whined loudly beside him. It was persistent, he gave it that.

He pushed his face into the warm, _soft_.

Though the noise did sound familiar, almost like his rington-

His eyes snapped open, shoving himself off Theo, twisting around for his phone. Clambering to the side, he snatched his phone away from his charger, immediately putting it to his ear.

“Hello?” He breathed, still groggy, sliding back down on the bed.

 _“Stiles.”_ Malia’s voice sounded through, “Why the hell didn’t you pick up earlier? I was worried!”

“Shit, what time is it?’ Stiles asked, looking out the window, bright morning light dimmed by the drawn curtains.

“It’s one in the afternoon!” Malia exclaimed. “Did you _just wake up?”_

Stiles dragged his hand across his face, groaning. “I was tired.” He slipped out, although completely honest. “Okay, major understatement considering all the shit that’s transpired in the past twenty-four hours, but yeah, that's the grand gist of why _I didn't pick up the phone_.” He said sardonically. It was unfair to lay all this baggage on Malia but his anger was still considerably fresh and raw. 

There was an uncomfortable pause. “I just wanted to- your dad told me how you were, when you called him.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were- you were okay, after-.”  


“I’m fine.” Stiles shot back, a bit too harshly. Malia breathed uneasily.

_“Hey Malia.”_

Stiles closed his eyes and counted to ten, to keep himself from kicking Theo. Immediately, Malia started to go off.

“-I swear to God, if you hurt him- if you hurt Stiles-.”

“You’ll scratch my eyes out and spoon-feed what’s left to me?” Theo suggested, stretching, before forcing himself on his feet with a groan, staggering over to the bathroom. 

“Shut up.” Stiles said, trying to calm an already-feral Malia, ignoring Theo whom grabbed his bag and slammed the bathroom door closed. 

“Didn’t my dad tell you that part?” Stiles said, annoyed. 

“He did but Theo-.”  
  
“Saved my life. It would be positively redundant if this was all part of his plot to kill me.” Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

“You still can’t trust him.”

_ “I know that.” _

Stiles swallowed, taking a breath to keep himself from snapping again. It was unfair on her.  “You just have to trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then let me do this.” 

Stiles ended the call, finally standing up.

“Why didn’t you wake us up?” Stiles shouted, as he unplugged his charger from the wall and started to coil it. He scrolled through his alarms, and saw that every one of them had gone off- and he slept through them all. 

He sighed, annoyed as he heard the shower go off. Instead, he opted to fall back on the bed, running a hand through his hair.

They kissed last night. Or, rather, made out. Explicitly. He didn’t know what came over him, because it was literally single most stupid thing he could do, as of their current situation. Theo would twist that to his advantage; It was definitely going to blow up on his face. This was not the time for a journey of self-discovery or whatever, especially not with him. Not with Theo. In fact, he should be the last person to even consider have the hots for. It was _wrong_. It was _dangerous_. 

“Stupid, stupid.” He muttered, softy banging his head against the bed.

He knew why he did it. He knew he needed something else to focus on, something to distract him. That’s all this was. A distraction.

He just had to keep it under wraps. Or, more wisely, forget about it all together. That was definitely better. He couldn’t afford this sort of leverage against him. Theo wasn’t below that, right? Who was he kidding, of course he was. 

He laid there in his own regret until he heard the click of the door. 

_“Finally.”_ Stiles said, getting up to grab his bag and towel. His eyes finally made it to Theo’s. He frowned when he saw his watery eyes and he was strangely pale. 

Stiles pretended he didn’t see, clicking the bathroom shut behind him. Theo said nothing either. 

He also tried to ignore the faint smell of vomit that lingered in the bathroom.

* * *

It was well into the afternoon when they finally got out of the motel room, finally finding their way to a nearby diner.

Stiles hated how behind schedule they were, and how they should at least be halfway to Chicago by now. Derek could be dead by the time they got there, and who knows how bad it’ll get in Beacon Hills- if Theo decided to help him out or not. There was so much to think about, so much that could go wrong.

He didn’t know much about the Mutatio pack. He’d have to call up Peter and Cora to tell them he was game-which, in retrospect, should’ve been the first thing he should’ve done this morning. The two of them were on it. It was too risky to get up close because the Mutatio pack knows the Hales- Derek wouldn’t stand a chance. But Theo. They didn’t know him. Or himself.

Stiles watches Theo idly, as the chimera picked at his salad (who eats a salad for breakfast?) Stiles, by then, had scoffed down his burger and was scavenging the few curly-fries he had.

“No appetite?” Stiles suggested, conversationally. He knew Theo was sick that morning, but for what reason he has no idea. Werewolves couldn’t get sick, they were immune to things such as the common cold. Chimeras, as far as he knew, shouldn’t either. It was disconcerting, to say the least. He needed Theo at his best.

Theo looked up, giving nothing away. “I’m thinking.”

“You’re not eating.”

“Impressive observation.” Stiles scoffed, pushing his plate to the side, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward.

“You better eat something, we sure as hell aren’t going to stopover anytime soon.”

Theo just shrugged, indicated he heard him. However, he did manage to force a mouthful of destroyed salad down.

“So, what’s the plan?” Theo asked. 

Stiles hummed, tapping his fingers on the table, staring down at the table.

“Peter and Cora- They’re Derek’s family, werwolves, and they should already be in Chicago, scoping out the Mutatio pack. I’ll call ahead to arrange something and we’ll go from there.”

Theo nodded, “Sounds good to me.” 

He then took out a few bills from his wallet, tossing it on the centre of the table. Stiles squinted, still suspicious at the amicability. He couldn’t help it, it was second-nature to him. To suspect everything Theo did was to his advantage, somehow.

“ _‘Sounds good_ ’?”

“It’s reasonable.” Theo shrugged, unaware of the suspicion. “At least it’s something, compared to last night…” 

“Which part?” Stiles said, before he could stop himself. He closes his eyes, swearing inwardly.

“The part where you decided to leave in the middle night, with _me_ , spontaneously and without telling anyone _where_ you were going or who you were going with, all the while jacked up, bleeding …” Theo had a mischievous glint in his eyes that Stiles immediately recognised and dreaded, “…Or the part where you decided to jump me-.”

“Theo, it was a mistake.” Stiles interrupted, before sitting upright, “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Evidently not.”

_Did Theo just-_

“Oh my God.” Stiles exasperated, decidedly wanting to be done with Theo for the day. He sunk back in his chair.

“Didn’t think you'd swing for that team…” Theo teased lowly. 

“Please stop talking.” 

“But I’ll play ball.”

“And I’ll play the xylophone with your goddamn ribs if you don’t shut up and eat your fucking salad.”

Theo responded with his usual smirk, but returned his full attention to prodding at and sporadically eating his ruined salad. 

Stiles still didn’t take his eyes off him. Letting the words sink in.

 

* * *

 

“- Yeah, we’ll call you when we get there.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Stiles cut the call off, looking out the window. It was already dark.

He let Theo drive, as he realised it was a bit ridiculous of him to refuse. And _GoogleMaps_ was handy so he knew Theo wasn’t going to drag him back behind an alley and murder him.

“So, who’s Derek?” Theo inquired. 

“You’re only now just asking?” 

“It doesn’t exactly matter, we’re going to rescue him whether I know him or not.” 

“Fair point,” Stiles breathed, before figuring out where to start. “He’s a born-Werewolf, the one who trained Scott.” 

“And the one who bit him?” 

Stiles shook his head, “No, that would be Peter, Derek’s partially-psychotically subdued uncle.” 

Theo just raised his eyebrows and nodded knowingly, as if that was exactly enough information to go on. Stiles scoffed at the response, suppressing an amused smile. 

“All of them born-Weres’?” 

“Yeah.”

“Why are we rescuing him?” 

“They’re holding him ransom,” Stiles explained, fingers fidgeting on the dashboard, “…Another pack with shit against us.” 

Theo gave an incredulous scoff, “What did you guys do?” 

Stiles chuckled mirthlessly, “It’s more so what we didn’t do.” 

“The Beast took down a few members of their pack. Scott’s territory _is_ Beacon Hill so ultimately that would’ve been our responsibility…” 

“And now it’s his fault.”

“I didn’t do anything either,” Stiles argued. “I couldn’t.”

Theo shook his head, eyes sharp ahead, “But you wanted to.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone wanted to do something.”

“ _Really_ do something.” Theo rephrased. 

Stiles swallowed, looking out the window. “Mason.” 

“You were going to let me kill him, to stop the Beast.” 

Stiles said nothing, anticipating the guilt. 

“Why didn’t you?” Stiles asked.

“Scott,” Theo started, “Then Liam, Corey, Deucalion. They all hid him from me, until I had to turn to… alternatives.” 

“Bullshit. You had the claws. You were trying to find him to take his power.” 

“That doesn’t change the fact that Scott stopped me from ending all of it sooner.” Theo pointed out, “And with that, more people died.” 

Stiles’ cheek began to stung as he rested it against the window, refusing to think about Scott.

“It’s a bad habit,” Theo acknowledged, “Scott’s desperate to keep his own conscious clean, he’ll let other people die for it.” 

Stiles wanted to stop the anxiety from bubbling back up in his chest.

“Sooner or later, he’ll be forced to get his hands dirty ” Theo shook his head, “And I wonder how much blood you’ll have on your hands before he finally takes the first dip.”

Stiles shook his head, not wanting to hear it. “Shut up.”

“Why? Because I’m telling you what you already know or because it’s coming from me?” 

Stiles clenched his jaw, “Definitely because it’s coming from you.”

“Because you don’t trust me.” 

“We have a winner.”  


“You’re too smart for your own good.” 

Stiles frowned, turning to stare at him, expecting the punchline. 

“You won’t trust me. I don’t care. But you can trust that _I get it,_ ” Theo nodded to reaffirm, not needing to elaborate, because Stiles thinks he knows exactly what he’s referring to. The Desert Wolf, Donovan. Them. 

“Unfortunately for you, I’m probably the only one who does.”

 

* * *

It was well into the night, and Stiles was feeling cramped from sitting upright all day long. His stitches, both his face and his abdomen, throbbed and screamed at him.

Stiles winced, meekly trying to put pressure against his stitches, hands forced tightly against the his side, refraining from shoving his face into the window. 

Theo looked over quickly, before turning his eyes back on the road, “Hurts?”

“What gave that away?” Stiles muttered, pressing hard, head back against headrest, short breaths the only type he was capable of. 

“We’re stopping over.”

“No.”

“It’s only another day until we get there, it’ll be fine.”

“No, keep going. I swear if you stop-.”

“We’re stopping over.”

_“Theo.”_

_“Stiles.”_

Stiles groaned, gritting his teeth in annoyance, yet too tired to argue. Just a few hours. Just a few hours. Just for a few hours…

Stiles startled when he felt car stopped. Shit, he fell asleep, again. Without even noticing. He looked out the windshield, to see they’re in a motel parking lot. Run down. Shady. Neon-sign casting a red light on the uneven pavement in the dark. A definite go-to for serial killers and scandals. (Of course Theo would take him here)

“We are so going to get murdered here.” Stiles deduced.

Theo scoffed, “I’ve been here many times, we’ll be fine.”

Stiles frowned, watching as Theo got out of his side of the truck, before huffing and clambering out of his side. The cold, brisk air meeting him. 

He shuddered, accepting his backpack that Theo throws at him, and walks with the Chimera into the shady-ass motel.

“Any reason why you’ve been here before?” Stiles inquired.

“It’s cheap.” Theo shrugged. 

Stiles squinted. Not exactly why he asked. 

In fact, it’s more unnerving when the clerk behind the desk, who was definitely half-asleep and half-drunk before coming in, bolting upright at the sight of Theo, eyes widening slightly in what looked like… fear.

“Theo! It’s been… too long, what can I do for you?” The man’s gruff voice piped up, noticeably shaky. 

“A room for two.”

The man’s gaze flickered from Theo to his in dread, then back to Theo’s, nodding eagerly. 

“The usual then?” 

Stiles’ blood ran cold. What the fuck. What the actual fuck.

Theo shook his head, “No,” He said, chuckling humorously, with a hint of restrained annoyance. “Just a room for two.”

The man nodded, offering a forced smirk, as if he was trying to get on Theo’s good side, grabbing a key hooked on the wall from the back. “That kinda night?”

Theo didn’t say anything, and just took the keys from the counter.

“Depends.” Theo turned to him, with a knowing smirk. 

Oh my God. That fucking _prick_. 

_“Have fun.”_

Theo looked down at the counter, catching a glimpse of a half-finished bottle of Scotch. He didn’t think twice before taking it, the man letting him with no protest.

Oh, fuck no. Stiles thought twice before following him, half-considering bolting back for the truck. But his stubborn-ass chose to follow him, needing to know what the _actual hell_ that was all about. 

The moment they got to they room, and Theo dropped his bag with his back turned to him, Stiles took the chance to grab Theo, twisting him and throwing him up against the wall.

“What the fuck was that?!” Stiles glowered. It was always one step forward and two steps back with Theo. Just as he thought he knew everything about him, something would happen to prove that he knew _zilch_. 

“Stiles, I can explain-.” 

“‘The usual’?! I knew you were a fucking serial killer but not this _Bate’s Motel_ bullshit!” 

“Stiles-.” Theo was cut off, choking as Stiles shoved him further into the wall with his arm pressing on Theo’s neck.

_“You have 10 seconds.”_

_“Drugs.”_

Stiles squinted, pretty sure he heard wrong, pushing harder. “What?”

“I’d take people here to deal substances, equipment or whatever the Dread Doctors needed for their experiments, and _yeah_ , sometimes they don’t go smoothly!”

“So you kill them?” 

“If it comes to it, then yes,” Stiles stiffened, loosening his grip on Theo at the admission, “But the ‘usual’ room that helpful-old Frank was referring to is the only room with a _trapdoor_.” 

“So it isn’t soundproof?” 

“All these rooms are soundproofed.”  


“Reassuring.” 

_“Stiles.”_ Theo exasperated. “I’ve taken you this far.” 

“Yeah, but turns out I don’t know anything about you.” Stiles shouted. “You don’t tell me anything, what you did-.”

“Because it’s fucking irrelevant!” Theo shouted back. Stiles pulled off, barely suppressing a flinch. It was the first time that Theo has ever raised his voice against him.

“It’s none of your business, my past is _mine_.” Theo hissed. “You don’t need to know everything.” Shit, he was almost growling.

Stiles huffed, but deflated. Having nothing to counter-argue with. 

“Fine.” Stiles gritted, yet still not wanting to let it go. He wasn’t going to let that go. “But if it gets in the way of anything…” 

Theo scoffed, but didn’t say anything, almost expecting the answer. Instead he grabbed his bag, slamming the door to the bathroom. 

Stiles walked over to his own bag, crouching down to search in it.Sitting back on his heels, he held Braeden’s gun in his hand. With a pack of wolfsbane bullets to pair. The exact things he used to kill- to kill the Desert Wolf. He swallowed, shoving it back into the front pocket for easy use. 

He didn’t want to use them. 

 

* * *

 

**“We should’ve killed you when we had the chance.”**

 

“Scott?” Stiles called out hopelessly, stumbling aimlessly in the black. It was dark, he couldn’t fucking see anything. Why couldn’t he see anything? 

 

“It would’ve been better for anyone. A lot of people deserve to be alive.” 

 

“Scott!” Stiles shouted again, trying to ignore not-Scott’s so wrongly bitter voice violating his ears. 

 

 

“You’re a killer. **You love it.** You’re disgusting.” 

 

 

That’s when he saw him. Scott. 

 

Stiles, without any hesitation, bolted for him. It was instinct, after all. 

“Scott.” Stiles breathed, hand grabbing his shoulder.

Stiles’ eyes widened, every cell in his body freezing as he flinched away from Scott. 

Red eyes, bleeding into the black, untethered rage and grief focused on him with no sense or sign of recognition. Fangs protruding, jaw widening inhumanly.

 

**_ “We should’ve put you down when we had the chance.”  _ **

 

Then Stiles was running, heart hammering dangerously against his chest, heart pumping erratically, cold with fear. 

A weight was thrown against him, dragging him, as he scrambled for purchase on the not-ground no no no NO PLEASE- 

White-agony flared across his side as it slashed him, and he could feel each claw dig inside of him, before being cruelly yanked out. NostoppleaseSTOP

Stiles screamed, with no choice but to look at Scott, at feral, hostile red. He couldn’t fucking move, _why couldn’t he move- why couldn’t he move?_

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Saw him come out of the dark. Crouch down in front of him slowly, sharp white teeth displayed in a toothy grin.

 

His own reflection. 

 

** “Miss me?”  **

 

Stiles gasped, eyes flying open as he struggled for breath. Everything was dark, and he struggled to gain his bearings, sitting up quickly, gripping the sheets beneath him for balance. 

After he managed to get his breathing under control, he brushed his hand over his damp hair, shirt sticking to his skin. God, he felt gross. A side-effect of the shitty-ass nightmare he’d just had. 

Scott, feral. Red, furious, glowing eyes targeted and central on him. No- no. He was not scared of Scott. He was angry, he was so fucking angry and hurt but he couldn’t be- it was ridiculous. It was so stupid. 

He wanted to break something because of it. God, he needed to move, he needed this out of his system. God, it was so fucking ridiculous, it was so stupid and _wrong_. 

With a glance to his side, he noticed that Theo was gone, blanket open to the empty side. He frowned, immediately whipping his head around the room. He relaxed when he saw the heart-attack inducing Chimera sat by the coffee table. With the bottle of scotch, taking swigs with his grip on the neck of the bottle. The sight was enough to sate his anger, but his heart was still pounding indefinitely. And Theo definitely could hear that.

What the hell was Theo doing drinking at this time of night-morning? Fuck, what time was it?

“Theo?” He called out. Theo suddenly jolted up, as if he only just heard him. Stiles sighed, both annoyed and intrigued as he swung his feet over the bed, getting up to walk over to the coffee table, standing above Theo.

“Why?” Stiles asked with an incredulous squint of the eyes, glancing at the bottle then back up Theo. He didn’t answer. Stiles rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

_“Is there wolfsbane in that?”_

Theo shrugged, and took another heavy swig.

Oh, brilliant. Theo was getting drunk. This was just what they needed- a stumbling morally ambiguous Chimera against a pack of vengeful Werewolves. And Stiles was now designated driver. 

Theo sighed, wiping his mouth with the pad of his thumb. 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“And this was your next best plan?” Stiles asked sarcastically. 

“I like the burn.” 

“Bullshit.”

“That’s got to be your favourite word,” Theo chuckled, “Or my new nickname.”

Stiles scoffed, repressing a chuckle. Theo held out the bottle out to him by the neck, offering it. 

“Sounds like we’re on the same page,” Theo said, gesturing to the bed with a tilt of his head, “Rough one?” 

Stiles scoffed, before grabbing it, tipping it back all the way as the answer to his question. He could hear Theo chuckle at the reaction. Stiles sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, focusing on the sweet, sweet burn. 

“Why are _you_ drinking? It’s suspiciously, uncharacteristically… reckless.” 

“Why do other people drink?”

Stiles frowned. Today was probably the closest he’s ever gotten to a vulnerable-Theo. It was foreign ground- and as much as he’d love to go poking around in there, he’s paranoid. And judging by the reaction earlier, it was like prodding a ticking time bomb. But if it gets in the way of the plan…

“You threw up this morning.” Stiles decided to be blunt. Probably the best way to go about it. Theo blinked impassively, not reacting outrightly.

“I did.” 

“Why?”

“I was nauseous.”

“You’re not supposed to get nauseous.”

“And dead people aren’t supposed to walk.” Stiles made an indignant face at the comparison. Aware of Theo avoiding the subject, again. 

“All I’m saying is that you should reevaluate what you think you know,” Theo smirked, eyelids hooded“…Then you can start experimenting.”

Real smooth. Stiles knows he’s referencing the Dread Doctors or them. Probably both. 

“You know it was a one time thing.” Stiles said firmly, biting the inside of his cheek in annoyance at the unwavering smirk. 

“I was talking about the Dread Doctors.”

_“Bullshit.”_

Theo hummed, eyes still staring straight through him. “Yes, babe?” 

“Don’t call me that.”Stiles gritted, despite the strange albeit brief warmth he felt up his chest at the nickname. It was most definitely the booze. 

Theo somehow caught it, chuckling. 

Stiles sighed, leaning back against the wall exasperated, taking another turn at the scotch. What the hell was his life?

“I know what happened.”

It took a second too long to realised what Theo had said. And when he did he felt everything freeze. His brain was slow on the uptake, trying to figure out why Theo would withhold that piece of knowledge, and not use it to his advantage immediately. The bragging rights he’d earn. What Stiles did know is how much he seriously did not want to talk about it. 

Stiles frowned, watching as Theo slowly got up, walking towards him leisurely, sultry. 

“Your face,” Theo nodded, “I heard it.” 

Stiles flinched, closing his eyes as he tried to stop the memories from rising back up, the anxiety flaring dangerously, as he squeezed the neck of the bottle tightly. Here comes thethe indoctrinating leer. 

“Don’t.”He whispered hoarsely, not wanting Theo to say _the_ words. “You don’t get to-.” 

“Why? Your so-called friendship is in ruins. It’s tragic, actually.” Theo said, matter-of-factly.

Stiles gritted his teeth, clenching the bottle so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

“Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t get to.” Stiles repeated uselessly, half angry at the words that came out his mouth. 

Theo chuckled mirthlessly, something mocking pity in his eyes. 

“He trusted me, over you. He actually believed me when I said that you bashed Donovan’s skull in with a wrench. That you wanted that. He believed that.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Then he left you to die at the school, remember that? Left you by yourself while The Beast was out tearing people in half? Or did you forget the part where I was busy keeping your insides from falling out? Or the part where you _did_ fucking die-” 

“Shut up.”

“Unbelievable. _Scott hit you_. Don’t you get that?"

He said it. 

"- _Scott hit you_. You needed _three_ sets of fucking stitches because they were so deep!” 

Stiles yelled, face red as he tried to attack Theo, but the stupid still-somehow-coordinated Chimera countered him easily, thrusting him hard into the wall, bottle crashing onto the floor. Stiles breathed heavily through his nose, trembling and snarling in rage. 

“It’s sad really, how you’ll come back crawling back to suck his cock the first chance you get.” Theo sneered. Stiles yelled out, thrusted himself forward against the grip, jaw clenched tightly. Fine, two can play at this fucking game. 

“The Dread Doctors.” Stiles spat, as Theo tightened his iron grip on his wrists, “They’re coming after you, they’re going to kill you and you’re _running, aren’t you?_ ” It was all he could gather, from what he had. But still, Theo growled, with warning, pushing him harder into the wall. 

“Another psychotic failed lab-rat.” Stiles hissed cruelly, tilting his head expectantly “I’m only just _waiting_ for the mercury to come dripping out of your fucking mouth.” 

Theo punched the wall beside Stiles head, the loud bang resonating in Stiles’ bones, undoubtedly creating a dent in the wall. Stiles heart hammered wildly against his chest as he glared at the furious Chimera, needing to move, needing to push, shove, hurt, throw _something_.

Stiles’ heart dropped to floor as Theo shoved his mouth on his. Stiles’ groan was muffled by the move, his fists clenching, Theo’s hands were still tightly wrapped around his wrists. 

Stiles shoved forward, breaking this kiss and forcefully yanking and freeing his wrists from Theo's grip, forcing the Chimera a step back.  Theo barely had any time to react because almost immediately, Stiles grabbed grabbed him by the shoulder, meeting him with an open-mouth kiss.  

Theo groaned lowly into his mouth, hands grabbing his hips possessively, the  both of them biting and tasting the other in a rabid frenzy. 

Stiles’ hands moved every other second, nails digging into Theo’s back, needing to bring him closer, fisting and twisting Theo's shirt in tight knots.

Theo suddenly grabbed him under his thighs, hoisting and forcing him hard against the wall, to which Stiles’ head banged against the wall loudly. Stiles cried out, but started groaning as Theo attacked his neck, biting and mouthing at the exposed skin. Stiles’ legs wrapped around him instinctively, wrapping his arms around Theo, closing his eyes as he panted wetly into Theo's ear .  Theo suddenly rolled his hips forward, catching Stiles off-guard. And he couldn’t stop the embarrassingly-wanton moan that was torn from his throat at how damn good that felt.

He could literally _feel_ Theo smirk against his neck, but didn't have the time to make a snarky remark before the fucker _did it again_ \- Oh fuck.  

He opened his eyes and saw the smug asshole smirking back at him. Still being jolted against the wall by Theo's steady thrusts,  he grits his teeth and rakes his nails hard into Theo's shoulder in retaliation, rewarded by a breathy groan. The small-victory was short lived, when Theo spun them around, taking large, quick strides to the bed.

He was roughly thrown on the hard mattress, springs creaking loudly in protest. Dizzied by the move, and glanced up to see Theo had taken his shirt off, and was on top of him immediately. He didn't protest, still disorientated by the move, he seized his arms around him, pulling him forwards and down closer, forcing their mouths back together again. 

Stiles growled, annoyed, fingernails dragging through Theo's naked back, needing _more_ , mouth open and lips dragging haphazardly against Theo’s. 

There was so much _heat_ , his throat scorching with every breath, his face glowing,  with Theo between his legs, Theo on top of him. It was so fucking _tight_ and claustrophobic, and he _needed_  it that way. He grabbed Theo by the nape of his neck needfully, concentrating on feeling his hard, hot, skin grind against his clothed chest. It was intoxicating and right, and had to have more.

Theo seemed to read his mind, attention turned to unbuckling Stiles’ belt. Stiles didn’t stop to think before doing the same to Theo. His heart was racing. He'd never done this. He's doing this. Fuck it. He _needed_  this. 

Stiles shuddered, eyes closing as warm fingers wrapped around him, already feeling the pleasure spike up at the touch, hand fastened around Theo's shoulder for balance.

_“Yes.”_

Theo dropped on top him, gripping them both together. Stiles choked off a moan at the foreign feeling, but welcomed it all the same, dragging his fingernails down his back as Theo shoved his face by the crook of his neck, grunting against his ear, jerking them both all the while driving his hips forward in a hungry-orientated pace. 

Stiles repeated his name in mantra, meeting Theo’s thrusts. Every slice of pleasure silencing the relentless noise in his head.

Theo thrust Stiles into the bed with deep, brutal thrusts. Gripping him closer, with head thrown back at how good it all felt, he held on for dear life, body jolting up the hard mattress. 

Stiles shoved the side of his face against Theo’s, the scruff creating friction burns as they moved together in tandem, hungry and frantic, Stiles’ eyes squeezed shut at the building, immeasurable pleasure that suffocated him so well, feeling Theo’s groan through his cheek, sliding against him for more.

The bed creaked loudly at the deep, fast thrusts. Stiles could distantly hear himself moaning roughly from the back of his throat, calling Theo’s name out in-between litanies of curses. The friction was _unbearable_. 

Theo; breath felt like fire against his skin, open mouthed kisses sucking at the crux of his neck, amongst the groans and grunts muffled against Stiles’ damp skin.  They practically both came at the same time, Theo stilling as he gasped against his ear, Stiles’ mouth open in a silent moan, dragging the side of his face against Theo, whole body shaking. 

His eyes were still closed as his mouth somehow found Theo’s, mouth wetly sliding against his languidly, amicable and tired. 

Theo dropped like dead weight on top of Stiles, still close enough to share breaths. Both eyes closed,  Theo pulled himself off Stiles, to which Stiles mirrored him, both looking at each other for a few beats, unsure of where _they_ stood. 

“Still thinking straight?”

Stiles laughed.


	4. Preview/Author's Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I know it's cruel of me to post a new chapter to get your hopes up only for it to be a dumb author's note but-  
> Yeah, I've been extremely busy. I have a bad habit of not completing my stories because I either lose the motivation and am unsure of my abilities, or because I don't have the time. 
> 
> tbh, since it's been ages since I last updated, and I don't even know if people are still interested in this story since it's been so long. 
> 
> I have exams in May and gosh do I need to study. The next update, if peeps want, would be in late May. From then on its the holidays and I can try to actually -finish- this. 
> 
> Since it would be horrible of me to just leave an author's note and like NOTHING for the people who I have left on hold with this story for ages, here's what I have so far for this chapter 
> 
> CAUTION: lil' steamy

 

Stiles groaned lowly, eyes blinking open. Eyes still half-lidded, he processed the room, a lazy yellow spilling into the room from what he presumes is the early-morning sun, the light patterned by vertical shadows- formed by the foldings of the closed curtains.

He was warm, comfortable and smothered by the sort-of scratchy duvets. And there was a loose grip around his torso, his back to something warm and equally as comfortable. Yeah, he could stay here.

Sighing, he snuggled back, closing his eyes once more.

He frowned, noting how slightly tight and uncomfortable pants were- his jeans.

Why was he still wearing his jeans?

His eyes snapped open.

He never made it to the PJs.

Because, right. He slept with Theo.

That was Theo using him as a body pillow.

That was him using Theo as a pillow.

He expected the rapid heart-palpations from this situation. He half expected himself to summersault himself out of the bed, make an idiot of himself- was this what one-night stands felt like?

Because if so, there was no… panic.

Stiles searched himself for something, he found no regret, no guilt… nothing. He just felt the calm.

He gently pried himself off Theo’s grip, not caring if that woke him up or not, sitting himself at the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He did that. He kissed Theo, they fucked. Sort of. They went to second base. He thinks. What even qualified? Whatever. It was done out of sheer anger and pent up frustration. They were slightly tipsy. Right? Okay, so maybe something in him knew it was going to be this way- after that first kiss he just couldn’t _not_. So it was what it was. A distraction, that’s all. With Theo. He just happened to be close by.

Bringing his hand up, Stiles lightly traced the stitchings on the side of his face. He had been so angry, and it got bad. These episodes were getting worse, and it was scaring him- he was only lucky he found some sort of outlet. Even though he found it in the shadiest smirk-infatuated asshole. Just his damn luck.

He could hear Theo shift around the bed, and he knew that it was a matter of time before he woke up. And then he’d have to face- whatever was between them.

He was starting to get nervous- okay, there it was. The anxiety was starting to set in. It was just sex. Sex between two totally consenting adults. Yeah, he was responsible. I mean, they didn’t exactly use protection but- No, no. He’s a werewolf-chimera they should be fine. It was just sex. No feelings, no anything. Just… sex. He could do this.

“Stiles.”

Take a deep breath, he reluctantly turned around, eyes finally meeting with Theo.

His shoulder slumped. It was actually unfair and downright unlawful at how _hot_ Theo was. He was sat up, perfect abs, sporting a slight stubble, perfect arms with bed hair that stuck up in all the right places- Stiles’ bed hair always resembled a disheveled hedgehog.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something but closed it immediately. _“We have to stop doing this.”_ was along those lines. There was the highest likelihood that Theo would laugh at that, and he might as well laugh alongside him. Because he just can’t stop himself.Whatever this was, it was inevitably going to blow up in his face. But he didn’t want to stop.

Their interests were aligned enough that he could trust him- for now. Stiles just needs to get out of his headspace and Theo-hell, what was he getting out of this? He supposes getting off is enough. And this would help Theo immensely in getting him on his side. Hell, Theo may not even like him it could just be- No, he'll enjoy this.  

“You think too much.” Stiles didn’t realised he’d starting drifting until Theo suddenly turns and reaches over, grabbing him by the waist and yanking him over, eliciting a yelp from him, twisting them around so Theo was on top, sheets twisted and tangled between them. Theo chuckles, amused, caging Stiles between this arms.

Stiles is internally freaking out because _Theo is still decidedly shirtless_ and something hard is definitely sticking into his thigh.

He glares at Theo but in that moment decides.

“This is just sex.” Stiles said firmly,eyes never leaving Theo’s. “Just to get it out our systems, okay?” Stiles murmurs, eyes trailing downwards. 

Theo just looked amused. “I can do that.”

Then Theo leaned forwards and that was it.

His first thought was that _wow, that was a warm mouth_. He groaned, and pushed forwards, lips lazily pushing and sliding against his. Theo’s tongue made headway on a gasp, Stiles turning his head, hand on the nape of Theo’s neck to urge him closer. This contrasted the pace and the mood of the other night- it was slow, hungry but _controlled_.

He pushed Theo off, using every muscle in his legs to twist the both of them around- thank fuck it worked- so that Stiles was straddling him. He kneaded his hands, experimental, into Theo’s chest, smirking down as Theo chuckled, surprised by the sudden move.

He shuddered when Theo placed his hands under his shirt, sliding up his hips.

Stiles bit his lip, firmly placing his hands on Theo’s, not wanting him to go further. He wasn’t self-conscious, or at least, that wasn’t it. He wasn’t ready to show yet, his stitches were ugly and ached and he couldn’t have anyone… touch them.

Theo understood the silent warning, instead reaffirming his grip around what he was allowed, tight around his hips.

Feeling bold, Stiles rolled his hips down, both of them groaning at the move.

“Fuck, _Stiles_.”

Taking a breath, pressing his fingers into Theo’s chest, he steadied himself.

_He could do this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in this story and would like me to continue, please comment because I have no idea if people are still here (Ik this is a horrible thing to ask but I'm genuinely curious if anyone wants me to continue?)

**Author's Note:**

> Re-Read Volatile Times, some changes have been made (Including the shitty-writing), but if you can't be bothered (Completely understandable btw), the only change is what had happened to Theo by the end of it. Instead of being 'sent to Hell with his sis, Tara', like in canon, he just... gets away. Plausible and easy to work with, right? 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for sticking by me!


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